


The Fallen and The Damned

by Otonymous



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blasphemy, Clergy cosplay, Come Eating, Exorcisms, F/M, Light Bondage, Mild teratophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Ouija, Profanity, Rough Sex, Spoilers, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: Love always finds a way to reunite those torn apart.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	The Fallen and The Damned

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the “freakiest” story I’ve written thus far, in term of both smut and horror, so I’m glad I managed to complete it in time for Halloween! I was inspired by the events of Chapter 22 in the Main Story (hard), in which (SPOILER ALERT!) the lovesick Lucifer confesses that he considered searching the human realm for MC so he could bring them back to Devildom. In fact, the line marked with an asterisk was taken directly from Chapter 20-14 of the MS (hard).
> 
> ⚠️⚠️⚠️CAUTION⚠️⚠️⚠️
> 
> This piece may not be to everyone’s tastes, so please note the extremely long list of potential trigger warnings above! It is very heavy on the blasphemous elements, which stems from a purely literary intent to play with the tension between good and evil, God and the devil, etc. I mean absolutely NO disrespect towards religion and any believers of the faith depicted in this story. Therefore, dear readers, please avoid this piece if any of the above are sensitive topics for you. The last thing I would want to do is make anyone feel uncomfortable.💖
> 
> That being said, if you choose to go ahead with the read, I do hope you enjoy it! - XOXO, Otonymous

##  **[Prologue]:**

“Date: Wednesday, October 23, 2019. Time: 13:06. This marks the beginning of the third session of exorcism as performed by Father Jonathan O’Malley, assisted by Father Avery Collins and sanctioned by the Bishop of _xxxx_.

“The subject’s vitals are stable — heart rate and blood pressure normal. Weight unchanged from last measurement taken…three days ago. Mood appears euthymic. As authorized by prior discussion with the Bishop, we will be following Father O’Malley’s recommendation to deviate from the rite as outlined in the _Rituale Romanum_ , starting with a period of questioning instead of the Prayer to Saint Michael. _Whenever you are ready, Father O’Malley._ ”

The sound of the recorder being set down on a hard surface, picking up the rustling of robes, chairs scraping against the floor.

“What is your name?” A man’s voice, different from the first. Older, softer. 

A full minute of silence passes before the question is repeated, each word enunciated with intent, as if the speaker had an inexhaustible well of patience from which to draw in this game of wits. “What is your name?”

A heavy sigh precedes an exasperated reply spoken in a higher register, a female voice: “Il n’est pas là.” _(He is not here.)_

“Tu parles français?” _(Do you speak French?)_

“No, but he does.”

“Who is he?”

“Mi amor.” _(My love.)_

“What is his name?”

She laughs, the bright tone completely discordant with the tension salient even on audio alone. “Many are his epithets. The Morning Star, Bringer of Light… _The Great Serpent._ Do you wish to know what the serpent does to me, Father O’Malley?…No?…Well then, perhaps Father Collins would be willing. Do you really think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me when you think the old man isn’t paying attention?”

More rustling of fabric, bedsheets perhaps. The faint squeak of mattress springs as a body shifts.

“Why they had you assist the good Father O’Malley here is beyond my ken. Oh…look at you, the bloom of youth still fresh upon your cheek. And so handsome too. How old are you? Twenty-three, twenty-four? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you are the most sinful thing in this room.

“For surely you’ve thought about it, haven’t you, Father Collins? Went back to that shoebox you call a bedroom in the church and laid in your single bed. Looked up at that wooden cross even as you fisted your cock beneath your drab wool blanket and thought about how wet I would be between my legs. Tell me, do your vows prickle at the back of your mind each time you pray for the hem of my nightgown to rise just a bit higher up my thighs? Or is it more of a turn-on for you to restrain me by the ankles and wrists?”

A muted cough and the sound of a throat clearing amidst more of that high-pitched laughter.

“Oh, you like this colour on me, don’t you, Father Collins? Virginal white?” She spits. “Well, a virgin I am no longer. Care to put your hand up my gown and inspect for yourself the slippery place where the Great Serpent slid…in and out and in and out? Personally, I don’t mind, but my lover is a jealous one. You might incite his wrath. If you’re too timid, Father, shall I show you how he did it?”

_“The rosary and holy water, Father Collins, if you please.”_ The man’s voice is hushed, as if turned away from the mic. When he speaks again, it is at full volume: “I ask you once more: what is his name?”

The sound of glass shattering precedes a sudden wave of heavy static that distorts the audio. Even still, the hint of a fourth voice can be made out before the recording promptly ends — deep, proud, and entirely inhuman:

_“You…shall…know me…as…Lucifer. And this girl…is…mine.”_

* * *

##  **[September 3, 2019]**

“It is inadvisable to play alone.”

Taking a deep breath, you scrunch up the instructions into a paper ball, tossing it into the wastebasket before it could grow heavy in your palm and give you further pause to contemplate your next course of action.

Sure, there was always a chance you could summon something other than what you had intended — a passing spirit, or maybe even a lesser demon. But you had made pacts with all seven Princes of Hell before. Anything else would certainly prove to be a walk in the park.

No, fear would do you no good. You had to try. The worst that could happen would be…

…absolutely nothing at all.

It seemed silly almost, sitting there in the dead of night all alone in your bedroom as you ripped the shrink wrap from the Ouija board, newly acquired from the toy store where you had found it wedged between Monopoly and Snakes and Ladders. You even bit back the question of _“does this stuff really work?”_ to the teen with pink hair at the register, who looked from you to the board and back again before loudly popping her gum and declaring that you owed $23.50.

No, if cardboard and plastic alone were capable of behaving as a conduit for the occult, surely it would prove much too disrespectful to mark something like that down for final sale.

And with that realization, black melancholy seeps in again, blotting the corners of your heart with a longing so intense it wound your stomach into tight knots. The flickering light of the candles lined up on your dresser fell on the calendar pinned to your wall, the penciled ‘X’ marking the day you had slipped into slumber and woke to find yourself in Devildom.

To be precise, the entire year you had spent among demons as an exchange student from the human realm had amounted to nothing more than the span of a single night’s dream. And though logic might have you believe it was nothing more than an incredibly vivid one, the marks on your body proved otherwise.

_Lucifer._

_“Lest you forget,”_ he had whispered, sinking sharpened teeth into the tender flesh of your thighs, breasts, neck and shoulders again and again in those final hours of your last night in his realm, _“these marks will remind you of who you belong to, for now and all eternity.”_

Pleasure dulled the edge of pain, sensations commingling as each marking bite found itself accompanied by a thrust that settled the mighty first-born fully within your body. You twitched, the arousal-slicked walls of your pussy stretching to accommodate the size of his cock even as you demanded more. The sheer ecstasy of his body joined with yours overwhelmed your senses until you lost control, caught in the throes of some bacchanalian frenzy.

Lucifer didn’t make love to you that night. There was absolutely nothing gentle about the way he took you and demanded that you lay equal claim to him. Every kiss, every touch, each and every primal thrust was laced with a desperation that only lovers who must part know the bitterness of. And yet, you prayed to the Fates that the world might never feel the warmth of the rising sun if only it would grant you a moment longer with your Prince of Darkness.

_“Drink,”_ he had said, the tip of his cock jutting against your lips as you slid down from the bed onto your knees, fatigue forcing you to grasp onto his legs for support. The head was hot and hard, slippery with your juices and his own impending release. Lucifer pushed into your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks, looking up into those carmine eyes as your tongue tickled the underside of his shaft — admiring the gleaming feathers of onyx wings, the elegance of his extended neck as the Avatar of Pride’s head fell back, heavy from pleasure and his crown of horns.

You smiled around him to feel him coat your tongue, swallowing the liquid heat as quickly as it came. And as you did, his voice resonated within the confines of your mind: _“Waste not a drop, my obedient girl. My seed will bind you to me and I shall find you again, wherever you are. The vastness of all three realms cannot hide you, for now I have tasted of your soul.”_

_BANG!_

The French windows in your room blow open, a sudden gust of wind causing the curtains to billow like a spectre, dancing in the light of the moon. Reverie dissipating like smoke, you hurriedly rise to shut them again, wincing at the pungent scent of sulphur in your nose when you strike a match to relight the candles that had been snuffed out in the breeze.

It was now or never.

Sitting cross-legged within the pentagram drawn in chalk on your bedroom floor, you place a finger on the planchette, sliding it towards the centre of the Ouija board. Closing your eyes, you strive to recall the sound of his voice, the touch of his skin…taste of his tongue. Then you take a deep breath and whisper,

“Lucifer, hear my call.”

* * *

##  **[October 31, 2019]**

Golden peacock feathers with their unblinking eyes.

Hair the colour of midnight, every strand perfectly in place.

The sweeping tails of a long black coat, lined in the blood red of a matador’s cape.

“Luci…fer?”

You try to reach out and grasp the receding images, frustration mounting when your fingers succeed only at curling around thin air. Then, the sound of water sloshing about in a washbasin by your side rouses you fully from slumber.

Opening your eyes, you blink off the haze of sleep, allowing your vision to adjust to the thin stream of light trickling in through the curtains, its dimmed intensity heralding the arrival of dusk. You look around, taking in the sight of your bedroom as if for the first time in days. It was recognizable still despite most of the furniture having been removed. All that remained was the bed you were lying on, two wooden chairs and your desk with the drawers taped shut. The full length mirror mounted on the wall before your bed was shattered in one corner.

You studied your disheveled appearance in the distorted reflection, watching your wrists and ankles pull against the bindings that held you to the corner posts of your bed frame like some helpless marionette. Your white nightgown was so drenched in sweat it was nearly transparent, clinging to the curves of your body in a way that left little to the imagination.

And to your side, the back of a man — broad beneath a black shirt that denoted him as a member of the clergy; straight in a way that suggested it was the younger of the two priests. Craning your neck, you could just make out the slim leather belt looped around the waist of his dark dress pants and the elegant movements of those long fingers, pouring water from a ceramic pitcher into the antique Victorian washbasin. You watch as he wrings out a face cloth, folding it into a square as neat as his own appearance.

Or what you could see of it anyway.

Head falling back onto the pillow, you close your eyes once more, wincing to hear the raspy quality your voice had taken on when you try to speak.

“Fath-ahem, Father Collins, you can remove the restraints now. I don’t think I need them anymore.”

_Tap…tap…tap…tap._

The heels of his black leather shoes click against the hardwood floor as they slowly approach the bed. You feel the gentle weight of the washcloth against your forehead and cheeks, cool and comforting on your skin as tender pats blot away sweat. The gesture extracts an inadvertent sigh and when your lips part on an exhale, a tongue suddenly slips into your mouth,

“Umph!”

…stealing a deep, consuming kiss.

Struggling against your bonds, your eyes fly open in shock, the bright white square of the priest’s collar flanked in black the only thing you could register in such close proximity. But when the kiss finally breaks, the face that pulls back into focus is not that of Father Collins nor the weathered features of Father O’Malley.

No. 

You would recognize those eyes anywhere, crimson cutting through the darkness of approaching night like the sharpened pupils of a wolf fixed upon prey. You had seen them in dreams, envisioned their intensity on you as you tried to conjure up the proud, handsome visage to which they belonged, your finger trembling on the planchette as it jerked across the Ouija board days, no…maybe weeks or even months ago. Time itself had slipped away from you, your ability to recall events occurring since that night fragmented and piecemeal.

But _this_ …this was a face you could never forget.

“Lucifer!”

Your body barely rises off the mattress before the restraints promptly force it down. But even the bonds chafing against your skin couldn’t detract from the sheer euphoria you felt to see your lover again. The shadow of the demon falls over you as Lucifer climbs onto the bed, kneeling on either side of your hips as they practically buck from excitement.

“I’ve found you,” he whispers against your lips, “but you do deserve credit for making it easier for me, my love. Using the Ouija board…how very clever.” His tongue dips into your mouth once more to intertwine with yours in reunion, movements serpentine as it greedily tastes and explores with a fervour that leaves you breathless, struggling to reciprocate.

Writhing beneath him, you strain against your bonds, desperate to run your hands over the hard muscles of Lucifer’s perfect body and feel him in your embrace. The fallen favourite of God, dressed in the solemn garments of those who serve Him, chuckles as if amused by it all: the blasphemy of his irony, the futility of your struggle…

…the promise of your body.

The tapered tips of those long fingers trace down your midline, journeying between your breasts from the notch of your neck until they stop at the navel. He takes his time, drawing playful circles about the eyelets embroidered in your white cotton nightgown before he pulls it up in a slow, teasing reveal.

Helpless to do much else in your incapacitated state, you yield to him, resigned to studying each and every expression of lust that flits across your deathless lover’s proud face; the flash of white teeth wrapped in a smile that spreads when he tears your panties clean off with a single yank, the gleam in the eyes that hold your gaze even as they settle on the low horizon between your legs, Lucifer’s tongue extending to lap at slick, pink flesh.

“Ohh…”

Back arching, you bite your lips to silence your moan, sinking teeth into flesh until you taste the metallic tang of blood. No one could be allowed to interrupt this moment; you had waited far too long for it.

“Mmm, look at how wet you are. Your juices are positively dripping. I’ve never seen you behaving so lasciviously before, not even during your last night in Devildom. Is it the costume perhaps? You like it when I dress up as one of my Father’s meek little servants?”

You inhale sharply to feel him slip a finger deep inside you, the slippery sounds of your arousal confirming that Lucifer had not been exaggerating.

“Or maybe…I should make a habit out of tying you up like this.”

A second finger joins the first as his thumb circles the tight ring of your ass, gathering the slick that pooled between your cheeks to ease the slow slide of his digit all the way in to his knuckle. Lucifer smiles to feel you clamp around his hand, rewarding you by pressing his lips to your clit and sucking the sensitive bud into the heat of his mouth, leaving you incoherent and gasping for breath with every flick of his tongue.

And he was right. There was a kind of pleasure in the exquisite torture of being restrained, that forced surrender to the whims and fancies of one you trusted with your very soul. Tremble as they might, your thighs remained spread to exhibit the beauty of your swollen folds, enveloping his fingers and glistening with spit, as if begging for Lucifer’s cock to fill you completely in a single, savage thrust. Your chest heaves as your wrists thrash against their bonds, making for such a sumptuous sight that the demon found his attention divided — alternating between lapping at your pussy and filling his greedy mouth with the supple flesh of your breasts.

Sucking his fingers clean, Lucifer finally reaches for his belt, asking, “Are you ready to receive me in Holy Communion?”

You nod as if entranced, mesmerized by the sight and sound of his buckle coming undone, the zipper of his fly sliding down to reveal him in his full glory — thick, long and hard. You gasp to feel him at your entrance, the searing heat of his cock already making you clench in anticipation when he orders, “Take me within yourself…make me a part of you.”

Those carmine eyes narrow and in an instant, you find yourself freed — the bonds that held you now nothing more than disintegrated fabric. But the Avatar of Pride remains still, making no further move and it is then that realization dawns:

You were to fuck yourself on him of your own accord.

Taking a deep breath, you will your weakened muscles to contract, clutching at Lucifer’s muscular biceps to pull yourself up. You crawl to the foot of the bed on all fours, studying your reflection in the shattered glass as you reach behind to realign your lover between the spread of your legs.

“Ahh…”

Your jaw slackens to feel him penetrate as you push back against the resistance, continuing until your buttocks are flush against the hard plane of his groin. This was another form of torture all on its own — the slow, careful slide of him in and out of your body when all you wanted was the violence of unfettered fucking, a chance to unleash the raw desire that had built up to a fever pitch in your lover’s absence.

He lays a hand on your head, gentle fingers tucking back the hair that fell into your face as your body grew warm with exertion. Glancing at the mirror, Lucifer’s eyes grow soft to see the frustration written on your face, the way your brows narrowed whenever you failed to maintain the speed or rhythm necessary to send pleasure coursing through your veins.

The time was ripe to relent. Ironclad though it was, Lucifer could only maintain self-control for so long.

So he folds himself over your back, one arm wrapping about your torso to catch a breast in his palm, squeezing as he whispers in your ear, “Say the word, my love, and I’ll take you back with me…if that is what your heart truly desires.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, twin rubies staring at you from the shattered pieces like the unflinching gazes of peacock feathers. Their corners crinkle in satisfaction when you reply without a hint of doubt that the only place you would ever dream of being was by his side.

With that, the mighty first-born sighs, back and chest expanding against the fabric of his shirt until it tears. Snarling, he claws at his throat as the thick stem of horns begin to sprout from either side of his head, sending tiny black buttons flying when he rips the strip of white plastic from his collar. And then, you hear it: the soft rustle of wings unfolding…

It was a breathtaking sight, the absolute majesty of Lucifer in his true form: alabaster stretched across muscle and sinew, light concentrated within the consuming darkness of the twin pairs of wings that flanked perfection. You felt yourself succumb to a state of frenzy, the thoughts in your mind jumbling together until they ceased to exist at all. No, the only thing you cared about was the strength of the hands curling around your hips, keeping you in place as Lucifer began to fuck you from behind in earnest. The salacious smile never left your face, buried in the sheets though it was from the moment you lost strength in your arms, body crumpling beneath the punishing pace set by your lover.

Tension finally winding to a breaking point, you find yourself enveloped by the downy soft touch of his wings…the subtle, sweet scent of a bloom you couldn’t quite place emanating from ebony feathers as they wrap around your body, crying out in ecstasy to have your world disintegrate in bliss.

And the final words you hear before darkness seeps into your vision are the same ones the Morning Star gifted you with on your last night in Devildom:

_“You’re mine.”_ *

* * *

##  **[Epilogue]: November 3, 2019**

“We turn now from the studio to Wanda, who is live at the scene. Wanda, what can you tell us about the situation there?”

“Thank you, Steve. I am here just outside the house where the missing person was last seen three days ago. There are currently two search teams combing the woods surrounding the property looking for any signs of her. Authorities say they are concerned about the potential for exposure due to dropping temperatures overnight and we’ve been informed that there is a good chance she is only wearing a nightgown. The two people who were the last to have any contact with her, both respected members of the local religious community, have been taken in for questioning by police, but no charges have been laid so far.”

“Well, let’s hope they find her safe and sound.”

“Definitely agree with you there, Steve. This has been Wanda Riker for CKTV News. Back to you in the studio.”


End file.
